


an unproductive story (my bleeding heart)

by shiibaru



Category: Kino no Tabi | Kino's Journey - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderqueer Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 06:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiibaru/pseuds/shiibaru
Summary: Kino and Hermes, and a prosperous country.





	an unproductive story (my bleeding heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [satyreyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/satyreyes/gifts).



_You do not have to be good._  
_You do not have to walk on your knees_  
_for a hundred miles through the desert repenting._  
_You only have to let the soft animal of your body_  
_love what it loves._

\--

Hermes has a bent spring in his transmission, which Kino only identifies after some sweating on the side of the road. It’s mid-afternoon, and the sparse trees don’t provide much shade from the sun. Kino had taken off their hat earlier, since it was only serving to cake their hair into a helmet.

“See? I told you there was something wrong with my gear shifting,” Hermes pouts.

“I never said I didn’t believe you,” Kino says, getting the clutch cover back on before leaning back, shading their eyes. They’re covered in dust, and the next country is still a few hours away, if the map is accurate. “We should be fine until then, right?”

“Ki-no, take it slow, okay? Don’t get me even more injured than I already am.” Hermes’ voice is annoyingly accusatory — Kino hadn’t exactly bent the spring themself. They pack up the tools and wipe their hands and face, giving up on the state of their shirt and trousers.

It’s a long, dusty ride punctuated by Hermes’ occasional complaints, and Kino’s thankful for the eventual sight of the country’s walls, lit by the setting sun. The customs officer points them in the direction of an inn, and Kino heads there immediately.

Hermes chants, “I want a shower, and a fresh spring, and I don’t have a nose, but I bet you’re smelly right now, Kino.”

“Funny, because I also want a shower, and fresh clothes. And I _do_ have a nose, and the smelly one here is you, Mr. Dirtbike.”

“Kino! How mean. I’m not a bicycle!”

\--

The inn is small, but clean. The owner looks young, and he checks them in gladly, telling the two of them that there aren’t that many visitors to this country.

“We’re known for other things, I suppose,” he says.

Kino wants to know what that means, but Hermes interjects to ask about running water.

A quick hose-down in the back alley of the inn is enough to get the worst of the dirt off, but Hermes complains he still feels dusty.

“Ugh, is this what being old is like for humans? It’s terrible. How do you stand it?”

“I’ll tell you when I get old,” Kino responds, and sprays him with the hose again.

The inn owner, leaning on his cane at the back door, laughs. “Well you know what they say about aging, right?”

Kino turns, but he’s already gone back in.

Hermes catches their attention. “Kino! The water’s getting on your boots! You can’t be _that_ desperate for a shower.”

\--

In the morning, the city’s wide and evenly paved roads are busy with motorized vehicles. They add a constant background rumbling while Kino walks Hermes to the nearest auto shop, so different from the single puttering sound of Hermes’ engine on the roads the days before. The inn is in a residential district, and beyond the rowhouses Kino can see the tall smokestacks of factories. They point them out to Hermes, who asks what the country produces. Kino isn’t sure.

The auto shop is bustling, and one of the mechanics takes Hermes into her queue, telling Kino that the work should be done by the evening.

As Kino walks towards the door, the head mechanic motions them into the office, and Kino sits down. The mechanic has the friendly face of a salesman, but instead of presenting Kino with some kind of deal, he opens by asking, “You’re a traveler, aren’t you?”

When Kino nods in affirmation, he continues, “Have you thought at all about getting another motorrad?”

Kino pauses slightly before answering. “Not particularly. Why do you ask?”

“From the looks of it, your motorrad is getting pretty old. There’s going to be a point when you’ll find that you need to do some more serious maintenancing than a servicing, and another point when the cost of maintenance gets prohibitive.”

“Hermes and I have been traveling companions for quite a while.” This is an evasion, which Kino is uncomfortably aware of, but this wasn’t a discussion they were expecting to have, especially without Hermes’ input.

“I understand. But if you keep on traveling, this is something you should keep in mind. There are lots of newer, more modern models on the market now, and I bet you don’t want to get stuck on the side of the road with no way to continue on your journey. Give it a thought.”

His voice is kind in a way that Kino finds grating.

\--

They walk, and wander.

It’s almost noon when Kino ends up, only somewhat deliberately, at the main factory entrance. At the information desk, there’s a group of schoolchildren preparing for a tour, and the guide, who introduces herself as Yianna, invites Kino to join them. As the tour starts, the children start peppering Kino with questions.

“A traveler, huh? That’s so cool!”

“Yeah, we _never_ get travelers!”

“What’s a traveler?”

“Where are you traveling from, anyway?

Their teacher cuts in, exasperated. “Children! Pay attention!”

They subside, but one of the girls expectantly holds a hand out for Kino, and soon they’re walking along swinging arms with a child on each side.

The first few rooms are filled with huge automated machinery, with workers loading up the machines’ queues and carting away the products. The group is kept a safe distance away, and they see big pieces of unformed plastic being kneaded, molded, and punched into various shapes and tools. Yianna hands out small pieces of injection molded plastic for the group to examine, which the children are extremely excited about.

“Can I keep it?”

“No, _I_ want to keep it!”

Yianna tells the children they can all keep them, and the two kids holding Kino’s hands drop them to go claim pieces for themselves. The group moves onward to the next room, and Kino trails behind with Yianna.

Kino turns the piece over. “I’ve never seen this kind of intricacy in mass-produced items before,” they tell Yianna.

She smiles. “Yes, this country is known for making intricate and sturdy products in large quantities. We keep high standards of production, even while we produce hundreds of thousands of items each day.”

That sounds like a fluffy number to Kino, but as they progress through the factory they concede it’s very likely to be true.

In other rooms, fabric-like material is being put into huge baths to be cleaned, hung up in big floppy bundles to dry, before being cut in large batches.

In another sequence of rooms, rows of workers are laboring over small non-automated and repetitive tasks — sewing buttons on shirts, soldering resistors onto motherboards, stuffing toys, screwing together mechanical parts.

“I think I’d be good at that,” a child says, pointing through the window at a line of people painting smiling faces on dolls. The workers’ faces are still and concentrated, and they don’t look up as the tour group passes by the window.

\--

At a little outdoor balcony on the third floor of the factory, the children take a rest break before the next leg of the tour, and Kino takes the opportunity to sit for a little while. The two kids who had held hands with them earlier — Mara and Lides — come over to sit with Kino, and show off their blue-and-green caps, which all of the children are wearing.

Mara hands her cap to Kino. “You see? These were made here too.”

Kino traces the embroidered logo of the country, a sequence of dots inside a circle, stitched in white on the inside of the hat.

“Mom says the circle represents the factories, and the dots are us.” Lides draws out the logo in the air, pointing vigorously for the dots.

“Here, let’s play that you two are workers and I’m the Factory!” Mara says, bossily.

“You _always_ get to be the Factory,” Lides grumbles, as Kino asks, “What does that mean?”

“It means that you two pretend you’re making some stuff. Come on Lides, show Kino.”

Lides rolls his eyes but makes packing motions with his hands, then exaggeratedly presents an imaginary item to Mara, who examines it and nods while Lides makes more. After a few rounds of this, Lides playacts getting older, holding his back as he hands Mara another lump of air. Mara finds a flaw in the work, wags her finger at him, and makes a big X with her arms. He turns in a circle and lies down dramatically, saying, “I’m gone now, to the heart! Goodbye.”

Mara turns to Kino, “Do you get it?”

Kino replies, honestly, “Not really. Why don’t you walk me through it?”

Lides bounces up to fight with Mara over who gets to explain, but then Yianna calls for the tour to continue and they lose the opportunity.

\--

Kino says goodbye to the children before they pile onto their bus. The towers of the factories cast long shadows on the road back towards the main city and the inn, and they can’t make out the children’s faces through the bus windows as they drive away. The afternoon has grown chilly, and Kino adjusts their jacket collar to block out the breeze.

Before they take that path back themself, a light hand to Kino’s shoulder stops them, and they turn to find Yianna.

“Traveler, if you’re interested, I would love to invite you to my home for a meal. My husband and I both work here, and we don’t see many travelers passing through.”

The gesture is unexpected but welcome, and Kino readily accepts.

\--

Hermes is full of bubbly cheer when Kino picks him up. When Kino pays for the cost of the repairs at the head mechanic’s desk, they receive an extra piece of paper along with the receipt. Kino turns it over, and finds it’s a voucher towards a new motorrad on trade-in.

They look up and meet the man’s friendly smile impassively. Kino folds the sheet in half, and then in half again, before tucking it into a pocket.

Outside, Hermes asks, “What was that, Kino?” 

Kino starts him up and they join the evening traffic on the road. “Just a follow-up to a conversation we were having earlier.” 

“About what?”

Kino considers, then responds, “Nothing important.”

“Kino! Was it a marriage proposal?” Hermes asks eagerly.

Despite themself, Kino smiles at this. “Do you think people write those out on paper nowadays?”

“How should I know? I can’t write!”

Kino laughs so hard they have to pull over to wipe their eyes.

\--

Yianna’s home is a modest rowhouse, and she and her husband, Jako, welcome Kino and Hermes into their home.

“It’s a good thing your kitchen is on the ground floor,” Hermes jokes, set alongside a wall in the narrow dining room.

Jako chuckles, “We don’t normally have motorrads as guests.” He and Yianna load Kino’s plate with food, which they accept with pleasure.

Dinner is delicious, and when prompted, Kino shares a story about one of the beachside countries they passed through a few months ago. It’s a warm story for a cold evening.

When Yianna brings dessert to the table, Kino asks the question they’ve been wondering about for the last day. “If I may ask, there don’t appear to be any people that are very old here. Why is that?”

Jako cuts them a piece of the cake, and hands it to Kino. He tells them, “In this country, our prosperity is based on the concept that we prioritize output. We’re able to produce and export so much because we opt to invest in the young and able-bodied. We’re all trying to keep this country as rich and fulfilled as possible, which is part of our culture.”

“What happens when people are unable to contribute?”

“They’re given to the heart of the factory.” Yianna says. “We’ve developed a way to create energy from people, so when it’s time, we can continue to give to the country even when we’re no longer able to do so physically.”

“That’s very… selfless,” Kino says, using the side of the fork to slice into the cake piece. They think of the center of the factory complex the tour guide had directed them away from. It had felt excessively warm, like there was some kind of enormous furnace exuding heat. They put the fork down with a clatter.

“It’s a matter of utility, between us and our country. We’re well-provided for by our country, so we provide for our country in turn, until we’re unable to.” He exchanges a smile with Yianna. “Yianna performs tour guide and educational duties because she has a medical condition that doesn’t allow her to do the physical work necessary on the factory floors. She’ll probably go to the heart before I do. That’s how we operate here.”

“Like for you and your motorrad,” Yianna says. “He provides you a service, so you continue to travel with him. When he gets too old and ceases to function well, he will no longer be useful to you, so you will either find a new traveling companion, or travel alone.”

“Excuse me,” Hermes interrupts, his voice cutting in clearly through Kino’s swirling thoughts. “How do you know I’ll ever be useless, even if I do get old? And what makes you think Kino will find another motorrad? You shouldn’t apply your country’s logic to us like that. It’s rude.”

Yianna laughs, as if Hermes had intended a joke. “You’re right, I’m sorry. But all things get old. We just have a way of processing that change here, that maximizes the benefit to everyone.”

Hermes huffs in a way that indicates he’s preparing to speak again, but Kino stands up to cut him off. “Thank you for dinner. It was very good. We’ll be heading back to our inn now.”

At the door, when Kino is putting their boots back on, Yianna asks, “What was your home country like, Kino?”

“My birth country?” Kino’s smile is small and bland. “Not so different from here.”

\--

As the night ages, Kino practices their quick draw. The steps of the motion make a repetitive rhythm. _Draw, point, and brace. Reholster._

Looking down on the workers of the factory, they’d felt the urge to draw the children next to them aside, and say something — something transcendent and life-changing.

They imagine telling Hermes this. “Then why not say it?” he’d probably ask.

_Draw, point, and brace. Reholster._

Before they’d left the factory tour, Mara and Lides had asked if they’d see Kino again, and Kino had told them, “If you travel outside of your country, you might see me on the road.” They were inadequate and empty words, but the two had seemed excited about the prospect, and Kino hopes —

_Draw, point, and brace. Reholster._

Kino imagines the children growing up, becoming adults, and working until they are no longer able to. But someday, Kino will be old, too — creaky, stooped, tired — and Hermes will be a pile of broken parts. Their arm tenses, trembles under the weight of the persuader.

_Draw, point, and brace. Reholster._

Kino wants to ask what Hermes thinks of a future of not being companions, of Hermes going wherever motorrads do when they no longer function, of Kino on the road with a new partner.

Hermes would certainly say something like: “As if my sense of humor is replaceable?”

_Draw, point, and brace. Reholster._

Hermes’ unlit headlamp is a watchful eye in the dark.

\--

They leave with Hermes early in the morning, before the city bustle starts up again properly. It’s a long day of riding until they stop for the night, deep in the forest, off the main road.

When the fire is low, Kino gets into their sleeping roll and thinks of the conversations they didn’t have the night before.

“Hermes? Why do you think we continue to travel together?”

There’s a brief clicking of a motor, moving through and turning over the thought, but Hermes’ voice, eventually, is certain. “You’d be dead without me, and I’d be a rust heap without you. We take care of each other well. It’s sympathetic!”

Kino smiles. “You mean symbiotic.”

“Yeah, that. Also, Kino… I don’t know really know what friendship means between a human and a motorrad, but from what I can tell, we’re friends. That’s important, isn’t it?”

Kino closes their eyes. The future seems vast. Things will change, and change again. Right now, the air is cool and refreshing on their forehead, and they’re thankful for the thickness of the sleeping roll. Tomorrow may be time to start using the tent again. This region suffers from heavy autumnal rains, and they should start moving in a direction where the distances between countries doesn’t require so much camping.

When they reply, they are warm and snug — and content. “Yes, I think so too. Good night, Hermes.”

\--

 _Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine._  
_Meanwhile the world goes on._  
_Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain_  
_are moving across the landscapes,_  
_over the prairies and the deep trees,_  
_the mountains and the rivers._  
_Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,_  
_are heading home again._  
_Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,_  
_the world offers itself to your imagination,_  
_calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -_  
_over and over announcing your place_  
_in the family of things._

_Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”_


End file.
